


Heaven

by Davechicken, ElDiablito_SF



Series: Paradiso [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Castiel back to his previous angelic power, he is eager to reclaim Heaven back from Metatron.  But to do that, he will still need Hell's help and to face all the risks that come with it.  Crowley has a very important question to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven

Once Crowley was assured that Castiel was actually back and staying back - and additionally that God wasn't going to smite him immediately for making out with an angel - the world seemed a little brighter.

He was the same old Cas and yet he also wasn't. The person was the same - the thoughts and feelings apparently - but now his angel glowed from the inside with that almost unbearable holiness that had once made him feel vaguely nauseous, but now... less so. Now it was reassuring and beautiful. Now the form matched the soul. Crowley found himself just... staring. Drinking in the stray peace and wonder that Cas radiated. Maybe it was just that he was madly in love, but he liked to think anyone with eyes would feel the inevitable magnetic pull of his lover's divine grace.

Hoping no one would overhear, he sent up a muted but sincere thank you to God. Even though he would never forget the pain of almost losing Cas, he was immensely grateful that he'd been given a second chance by proxy. Even if he was just allowed to love Cas and that was the extent of it, it was more than he knew he deserved. And he intended to take what scraps of good he could.

"Well... Shall we go back and stop Tall and Taller from putting a bounty on my head as an angel-murderer? Much as I would love to spend the rest of eternity just spoiling you rotten... I sadly have to bow to the fact He brought you back for a reason other than our eternal nuptial bliss."

And also because he was aware he was feeling overwhelmed and humbled. And that he would happily sit and gaze at Cas for... Well. Forever. So maybe shifting the focus would help with that. His hands were still all over his lover.

Castiel rested his forehead against Crowley’s, feeling his vessel’s resurgent heartbeat steady itself to a measured rhythm. His mind raced with a million unholy things he’d rather do than have to think about the war against Metatron and his inevitable return to the bunker for further strategizing, all of these things involved Crowley being naked and with sand getting into places that would enjoy getting sandy the least. Sand that was still covered in his own blood from a not so long ago sacrifice.

“Eternal nuptial bliss,” he repeated, chewing a bit on his lower lip. “I like the sound of that.” Still, Crowley had a point. Dean would probably start shaking down Hell and Purgatory by now for information if they didn’t get back soon.

Crowley smirked. He could still make Cas' cheeks colour - angel or not - and that was reassuring to see. "Far be it for the devil to be the one arguing for duty and honour... so what's say we make a deal again and I have you on a promise?"

A hand on Cas' thigh, pushing tantalisingly slowly upwards. "You know what they say about absence...?"

Cas leaned into the touch, grinning like a celestial idiot from ear to ear.

"Are you... proposing to me?" He knew his lover too well to expect a sincere reply to his query. "Because I wouldn't say 'no' you realize."

Crowley pulled back a little, cocking his head to one side, curiously. "Whatever would the Pope say? Although I'm not sure what he would object to most: me not being a sexually submissive and open to hell-spawn female, me being the devil, or me offering you blood-diamond mines instead of a ring? Hmmm. Probably the first."

Cas laughed. "You can be quite sexually submissive, when you want to be." Reluctantly, he got up and brushed the sand off his clothes. The blood was gone but it still felt strange to be wearing exactly what he had been slaughtered in. For a moment, he contemplated resurrecting Jimmy's trench coat. He stretched his arm out towards Crowley, offering to pull him up. "But I think I'll wait for a proper proposal before accepting. We should get back to Kansas first."

“Angel, if you’re casting me as Eve, then you should be the one proposing. And if I recall, in the grand scheme of things, you tend to end up screaming and begging for more, more often than me… So perhaps you’d be wearing the fluffy white dress. It would suit you more than me.” But he let Cas pull him to his feet and fastidiously preened the sand from his now-cleaned suit.

“Why don’t you take us back… it’d be nice to hitch a lift for once.”

Cas was looking at Crowley with his head tilt of yore, smirkily judging, the corners of his eyes smiling. "You keep running that mouth like that, I'll leave you for another demon." It tugged at his heart-strings still, how unsure his lover was about things, about _them_ , how afraid to show his hand after everything they'd been through. There was no doubt in Castiel's mind that their love was as pure as primordial ether itself, and yet, there were rules and protocols to their little games. He reached out to touch Crowley's forehead with his two fingers, the smile still playing on his lips.

When they rematerialised, Crowley was still smiling back at him. He grabbed Cas’ wrist and pulled it down to press those fingers to his lips. “I know you won’t, princess. And I’ll remind you why…” The tip of his tongue stole out to lick just below Cas’ fingernail, over the sensitive pad of his digit, eyes on Cas the whole time. “But I thought we said we’d wait…?” Especially as they were now in public… If he was aware of Cas’ disappointment, it didn’t show. He was still too pleased to have Cas back.

Cas was somewhere mid-way to a soft purr at the feel of Crowley's tongue when a crash alerted him to the fact that they were no longer alone. It was the sound of Dean falling out of his chair.

“Holy shit, I forgot how freaky it is when you just poof in!” Dean scrambled up off the floor, rubbing his bruised ass. “Cas!” The hunter’s grin was so wide, it looked almost dangerous enough to swallow Cas whole, and then Dean pounced right on top of him, arms and legs flailing with reckless abandon (because it wasn’t like Cas couldn’t handle a little mauling now that he was back in his angelic state).

“So it worked!” Sam sounded over the moon, but he was a bit more reserved about his greeting, pushing to his feet and beaming at the pile of angel and best friend in front of him.

“Ah, your lack of faith in my ability to follow basic instructions is reassuring,” Crowley replied, examining his suit so he didn’t have to look at the hunter currently touching things which did not belong to him. “Yes, the prodigal angel returns.” He kept the venom in his voice to the barest minimum. He hadn’t yet worked out how not to be jealous, or how to feel happy for people when it didn’t involve himself.

“You brought him back,” Dean said to Crowley, finally letting go of Cas and stretching his arms out in an arc, clearly about to pull the demon into his embrace. “Don’t ever tell anyone about this or I’ll stab your face,” he threatened, plastering himself all over the King of Hell in a bewildering display of affection.

Crowley went very, very still. And very, very stiff. Of all the things he had expected on arrival, one of the _Winchesters_ forcibly _hugging him_ was not on the list. There was a moment of unbridled panic on his face when he wondered if this was maybe ‘it’ and the hunter was about to knife him - eyes going to Cas in a ‘shit, save me?’ way - and then… then he realised that it wasn’t an attempted murder and he awkwardly patted Dean on the back.

He was losing his touch. There would have been the day he would have taken the sudden, inappropriate and unrequested proximity to make some thoroughly dirty joke and shock the man out of his mind. Or at the very least cop a feel of his perfectly shaped buns. Part of the reason he hated Dean so much was the man was too unbelievably pretty and Crowley didn’t like Cas having friends who looked like they belonged on a calendar in a cowboy hat and little else.

“Believe me, I have as much of a reputation to think of as you do, Dean. People will be asking why I didn’t snap your neck or lock lips with you, and ‘because I’m happily dating an angel and have no interest in other men’ is really going to help with my sexy bad-boy image… So maybe we should just never speak of this again. Unless Cas is into ménage à...” Crowley looked a bit guilty for even making the joke and shut up.

Sam decided it was about time he got in on the action to, and he went over to Cas without hesitation this time, and pulled him in for a more sedate but no less heartfelt hug. “It’s good to have you back, bro. We’ve been worried sick about you.” He broke the hug a little faster than Dean had. “I have to admit, I had my doubts about the whole divine plan thing. But I’m cool with it working out. Is… did everything come back like it was before?”

Cas was still partially distracted by the impromptu love-fest that was Dean and Crowley to catch on to Sam's question. Eventually he appeared to give it some thought, head tilted in concentration.

"I seem to be fully powered, yes, although there is a number of tasks I have not tried performing yet." He looked around the room. "Does anyone have any injuries I might heal?"

Dean cast a suspicious look towards Crowley, more than half expecting to get stabbed or at least punched in the face, all in the name of science.

"Why don't we just assume it works fine," he suggested, backing away from his demonic acquaintance just in case.

"Heaven is opened again," Cas went on. "But not all of my brethren will be powerful enough to return and only some might be equipped to take on Metatron. Crowley and I have a plan that should help tip the odds in our favor."

"Yes," Crowley agreed, slitted eyes on Dean briefly in amusement at his skittishness before the wonder that was Cas' voice pulled his attention back. "It - worked --" in principle, if not for _his_ needs, "-- last time. I simply use the souls at my disposal to mojo up the angelic horde. I will have to keep an eye on them in case..." His eyes flickered to Cas, "...in case the tarnish of damnation has a negative effect on the fairies in question."

"Is it wise to put bad souls in angels?" Sam asked. "I mean... Not all angels are... You know. As cool as you, Cas. And you were a little bit..."

"Back-stabbingly betrayingly wicked?" Crowley provided.

Cas appeared to retreat into himself a bit at the provocation, letting silence hang in the air just a few beats too long, when unexpectedly Dean came to his rescue.

"Hey man," he was addressing Sam, but it clear that his words were meant equally for Crowley, "we don't talk about the Purgatory plot."

"Sorry, man. I know you feel bad about that. I didn't mean to say you would... I meant... the others might..." Sam bit his lip.

"I'm sure Castiel is... I'm sure you can control your siblings," Crowley said, a hand to his chest and a tiny little bow. "I wouldn't offer you all my souls if I didn't have the utmost faith you would do the right thing... this time."

"I am... touched by your faith in me," Cas muttered, "And I will try not to let you down. I could always take the brunt of the burden upon myself. I'll return them as soon as Metatron is... neutralized."

He felt trapped. He didn't dare lift his eyes towards either Crowley or Dean, fearing their faces would only reflect the accusing guilt of betrayal he had still not managed to erase from his heart. He finally directed his eyes towards Sam, who had a stabilizing effect on Cas.

"Besides, it's our best and only strategy at this point," he added with a shrug.

Crowley was surprised to find that the tone of Cas' voice... hurt. He'd spent hundreds of years causing that kind of emotional pain and guilt and it had always felt great before, always fired him up. But in Cas...

The demon flickered his eyes over to Dean - making sure he caught them - with the briefest of apology. And then he took Cas' chin in between finger and thumb and turned his face towards his own. "You will be the most fabulous angel in all of creation. You _are_ the most fabulous angel in all of creation. You're also the only one who has ever slipped and got back up again. My faith in you is unshakeable, Cas. And so is theirs." He tilted his head at the two brothers, hoping they forgave him his latest public display of affection.

Cas wanted to kiss Crowley, so he did, trying to be oblivious to the practically audible eyerolls from Dean and not subtle throat clearing noises from Sam. He pushed into Crowley's mind with his own, a wave of satisfaction washing over him at the realization that he could.

_I won't betray you. I'm yours, forever. Please don't give up on me._

They'd gone so far together - surely they would not stumble in the home stretch?

If Crowley had thought about it, he would have realised Cas would be able to do that. But he hadn't. And even though he'd done it himself to the angel... he simply hadn't expected Cas to do it back to him. The falter in his mental step was fleeting. He kissed him back softly, wanting to reassure him with touch in the way his words never yet seemed to manage.

 _I do,_ he thought back. And - because no one else could hear - _I'm sorry. Old habits die hard. Forgive me taking time to learn new tricks?_ He hoped he wasn't telegraphing his regret too blatantly, but he stroked Cas' chin with his thumb.

Cas pulled back at last, smiling a private smile at his lover.

"Well, there you have it. I'm putting out a call to my brethren, so that those who have recovered enough to fight can join us. As for Abaddon's faction and those angels who joined her... I'm open to suggestions."

"Won't they abandon the Apocalypse Redux plan once they know Heaven is open for business again?" Dean wondered.

"Do you really want angels who worked with demons to get back into Heaven?" Crowley asked, not even working out the hypocrisy of that question.

"Er. Maybe we cross that bridge after we fix Heaven?" Sam asked. "We can't fight two wars at once." He did stare at Crowley, wondering if he was reclassifying himself now or just forgetting who he was.

Cas opened his mouth to speak but then reassessed his initial urge, choosing instead to file the exchange away for future reference.

"Well, my darling zombie of an angel, if you'd be so kind as to set your loudhailer off, I'll make the necessary arrangements to feed you all soul-spinach." Crowley ignored the looks they were giving him and vanished back to Hell.

***

The ranks of the heavenly choirs was somewhat depleted. Over the course of a few years more angels had died than in millennia previously, and no new angels had been created to swell their numbers. About two thirds of the remaining angels had turned up in response to Castiel’s urgent call to arms, most of them curious and weary more than anything else.

Of those two-thirds, twenty saw the Winchesters and the King of Hell were working with him and left without listening to his plan. Of those still there, three baulked at the prospect of damned souls and more came close to leaving until the unexpected and impassioned speech from Ezekiel won them over. Then things started to look up.

Crowley juiced up every last angel, giving them enough power to survive the assault on the Pearly Gates, but reserving the lion’s share of the souls for Castiel. He also made sure no angel (bar Cas) had more juju than he did, but that was purely survival instinct. He had to do it fast, because Abbadon’s own angelic spies had heard Cas’ cry for help as surely as the ones who sided with them. And Crowley did _not_ have the time to deal with that upstart Knight right now, thank you very much.

They lost several on the initial charge. Metatron was wiley. However, he was just one angel against an army hell-bent on reclaiming their home. Eventually they wore down the defences, and the archangel was left scrabbling for cover in a bibliophile’s paradise: an exact replica of the British Library’s reading room… back before it moved from Bloomsbury. He backed up through one of the aisles towards the concentric circular desks in the middle, eyes glowing and angel-blade held before him. He knew it was the last battle. He’d seen enough - read enough - wrote enough. But he still wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“You couldn’t leave me alone, in peace, could you?” Metatron called out to Castiel. “I let you go. I let you _live_. You could have lived amongst the humans and come here in peace at the end of your days. But no… like all the angels you have to just… _destroy_ and _ruin_ things. None of you deserve to be here! None of you!”

"You cannot usurp Heaven," Castiel growled, his voice the texture of sandpaper, advancing upon Metatron with his angel blade held aloft. "There is an order to the Universe and God Himself will not allow you to ruin it." He noticed a movement of Metatron's hand, a bare flicker, but he knew the power blast from that flicker would have normally sent him flying, scattering off in possibly a parallel dimension. He smirked, feeling the buttressing of Hell's souls inside him, and reflected the blast with the merest wrinkling of his own forehead.

Metatron had the decency to look disturbed by his lack of efficacy, and his own brow creased with concentration. Another fling: a harder, magician-flick of his wrist. Another. Another. Castiel deflecting each one.

“Why couldn’t you just find a nice fat wife, in a nice fat dress and make disgustingly cute, cherubic spawn and tell them bedside stories until they grew to hate you? Until they had children and those children came to hear about the ‘good old days’ back in Heaven before you Fell...”

His left hand glowed with all his power pushed into a ball, swirling as he focussed it ready to hurl. Cas might have Hell, but he had Heaven. Or… a lot of it. “Instead you bend over and let the _King of Hell_ shove the souls of the tormented up your ass and come in here talking to _me_ about _Order_? What is it with angels? You’re all wrong in the head! _And_ the ass!”

"You know," Cas said calmly, advancing slowly, blast after abortive blast deflecting off his skin, "Sticks and stones may break my vessel's bones - if you throw them hard enough - but inane vulgarities will never hurt me." He balled up a coil of energy in his own fist, unfurling it in Metatron's direction. "Besides," he stood over Metatron now, a ball of former glory gazing up from beneath him, "I _like_ bending over for the King of Hell. Unlike you, he's never lied to me, you putrid remnant of primordial slime."

He raised his angel blade higher aloft, poising to bring it crashing down into the archangel's chest.

"It's lights out, Metatron."

“No - stop - Castiel!” The older angel scooted back on his ass, his own dagger sent spinning somewhere to the side, his eyes wide in fear. “This is evil! This is wrong! Damnation has no place in Heaven! Evil should never _win!_ Look at yourself! Is this what He wants? Is this _His_ will?!” Metatron sounded hysterical, cowering under his hands… he knew he was overpowered, and words were the Voice’s last refuge. “Castiel… please?”

Castiel gazed down upon his nemesis through slanted eyes.

"Your pleas are useless. You can die choking on your own lying tongue."

The angel blade went right through Metatron's neck, his demise reflected in Castiel's steely gaze.

Metatron didn’t even get out a cry, his Grace glowing one last time as bright as the firmament, flaring through his mouth and eyes. The knife twisted and the angel left, one last flail and his wings coiled up in a paroxysm of agony before falling a final time to the library floor. And then he was dead, and Heaven was won.

It was barely a moment later before the first of the soldiers found them. Penemue approached quietly. “Castiel… it is over? You… you have killed Metatron?” The angel - currently inhabiting a grey-haired woman with skin like creased baking paper - walked slowly up to Castiel. “We are victorious?”

He could feel it again, the laurel wreath, the cloak of triumph, the burden of celestial glory.

“Yes. Heaven is ours again, sister. Rejoice!”

He could feel the gates slowly snapping open, the gears turning - click by click - lighting the way to the wayward angels still lost, restoring with slow surety those who had come with Castiel on his quest. His Grace was alight with glorious purpose again. He did it. He had won.

But there was no time to waste. The blue planet below was still beset by demonic forces, particularly those of Abaddon. And besides, the Winchesters needed him to return. Crowley needed him.

"Brother! The choir shall raise their trumpets in paeans to your name! Come, let us rejoice and welcome our brethren home to the fold." Penemue held out her hand, waiting for Castiel to join her. Her heart was soaring with victory and relief.

"There is still much I need to do," Castiel found himself saying, ignoring the stretched out hand. "Mind the gates, I shall return." He stretched out his wings and aimed for Kansas.

***

Crowley was in the middle of explaining all the myriad ways they could take down Abaddon - gleefully and with extreme prejudice, especially considering the ways that would _hurt_ \- in order to keep himself occupied and not thinking about the fight going on in Heaven (where he could not, sadly, go). But he stopped in mid-sentence the moment he felt the flicker of Castiel's presence.

" _Ave Imperator_?" Crowley said, completely ignoring the Winchesters because someone more important was in the room. "I take it by your presence that the Voice will monologue no more?"

"That is correct. I stabbed him mid-soliloquy." Cas was still flushed with the afterglow of his victory. His instincts were to take his prize like the conquering hero he was, but the sparkling eyes of the two Winchesters held him back. "Heaven owes you both a debt of gratitude," he nodded towards the brothers, "Although it owes Crowley a much _bigger_ debt, I am afraid, and the repayment of it really cannot wait a moment longer. Would you excuse us?"

He probably didn't need to go into quite so much detail on the relative sizes of gratitude, but there was a part of Cas that still couldn't help but want to rub his relationship with Crowley into Dean's face. Not for any reason of petty jealousy, but - rather - just because he could. He didn't feel helpless anymore. He was himself again: power, light, celestial intent. They couldn't hurt him anymore, the Winchesters, couldn't dismiss him or ignore him, bind him or use him. They were human, and he? Well, he was... if not God, then at least God's Right Hand.

“You… you go… do your thing,” Sam agreed. “Maybe with some soundproofing.” Because they’d been loud enough when only one of them was suped, and he didn’t want to think about what an angel and a… okay he needed to _stop_ thinking about how…

“Gentlemen,” Crowley said, hand to his chest and a polite little bow. “We will conclude our deliciously wonderful plan to remove Abaddon later. Your gracious hospitality is most sincerely appreciated.”

He could see the power flickering over Cas’ face. Power and the flush of victory. It would be a lie to deny how attractive it was… Crowley had _always_ been attracted to power. And now it had a very nice house, too. “Shall we, darling?”

They could go anywhere now, there was no need to soundproofing (as Sam had suggested) because there was no need to stay inside the bunker. Cas had his wings back. Perhaps it was a touch of sentimentality, a harkening back to the days when Cas still wanted to tug at the edges of their love, just to see how thinly he could stretch it, or possibly it was simply the most appropriate place he could think of. Regardless it was night time in Paris, and the top of the Arc de Triomphe still sounded like an excellent idea.

"I was hoping you wouldn't object," he turned to Crowley as they landed. "The bunker just wasn't... spacious enough for how I feel right now."

“How could I object?” Crowley asked. “Frankly, we are both much too fabulous for a filthy little human home. And I have always loved Paris…”

It was enough talking. More than enough talking. The city was bright and alive around them, and his angel glowed with an inner light that drew Crowley like a moth to a flame. He closed the distance in a heartbeat - hands up to cup his face - and tugged Cas’ face down to kiss him. He’d been worried - though he hadn’t admitted it to the hunters - and now Cas was home, and Cas was _his_ and he was himself once more and everything was good and right on earth as it was in Heaven. He kissed his angel with all the rising joy in his heart, pushing into his mouth to taste the aether.

Castiel felt like his mouth burst into flame at the feel of Crowley's lips, and his vessel's heart beat out the rhythm of the ‘Ode to Joy.’ It seemed that for so long all they'd been doing was preparing, but now they were victorious, and could reap their reward. Yes. Reap. Roughly, Cas pushed Crowley onto his knees, following down onto his own - lips seeking lips - like a homing missile.

"You always wear too many clothes," Cas complained, valiantly attempting to undo the tie with eager fingers. There was something about succeeding in this feat through textile means, rather than a flicker of Grace. But he could do that now too: to have a thought, to make it a reality. He could have Crowley naked, spread out, and begging for his touch… and all he had to do was think it. The mere realization of it made Cas moan softly into his lover's mouth. He opened his eyes to fix his stare on Crowley's face. He was greeted with a look of pure lust - and more - but lust was all he needed. "I do not like them," he declared, vanishing the suit, leaving Crowley only in an unbuttoned blouse and an incongruous pair of knickers and socks.

“I like them.” Crowley was amused by the sudden abuse of power, though. He did like them. He liked them a lot. He enjoyed looking good, because it made him feel good. Made him feel… powerful and attractive and successful. “They look good. They look good on _me_.”

Crowley narrowed his own eyes and stripped Castiel with a wish and a prayer too. Unlike Cas, he removed everything from his lover. The half-job was making him feel a little… ridiculous… and not in a way he entirely enjoyed. “Do you have a new fetish for half-naked demons that I need to be aware of?” He reached for Cas’ face again, pulling him forwards so they could glance lip to lip, his other hand touching just above Cas’ knee to incy-wincy-spider-walk up his thigh. “Because I can live with that, if so. For my gloriously victorious General.” Teeth on his lower lip, tugging it delicately. He could feel the rising tide just behind their hands, the way they were teetering over the cliffside. One push - one push - and it would all…. explode.

"I like to unwrap my presents slowly," Cas purred into Crowley's ear, teeth grazing the lobe, then sliding down the column of the demon's neck. Cas' fingers were, indeed, quickly stripping Crowley of his shirt, nails brushing against the nipples.

"You could have fooled me." Especially seeing as his hands were already over him again. Doing nice things. Making his flesh goosepimple and flush under the attention. His eyes drifted closed as he focussed on his other senses, letting touch and smell and sound grow louder inside his head.

Crowley breathed in the smell of souls and death from the tousled mess of hair, his nose wrinkling as stray strands tickled. He rocked forwards - crotch to crotch - and his fingernails raked over Castiel's deliciously strong shoulders. Crowley could all but feel the wings hidden just out of reach. He wondered if it would be possible for anyone to reach _in_ and tug them _out_.

"Tell me, angel, how does it feel to have almost all of Hell inside you? Does it make you think of me? Does it make you want the _rest_ of Hell inside you?"

In a blink, he had Crowley on his back, fingers tugging at the recalcitrant socks, baring the demon's feet so that he could press his lips to their soles. So sensitive right there, so convenient for a consecutive or concurrent delivery of pleasure or pain. Cas sucked one of the smaller toes into his mouth, thinking of human bodies in general, and Crowley's toes in particular, and how his lover was definitely not expecting that, if his expression was anything to go by. He gave the ball of Crowley's foot a rough lick.

"Maybe I'd like to give the King of Hell some Hell of my own?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, hands running along the exposed calves to the soft, silken skin hidden in the pits of Crowley's knees. He could definitely feel the whirl of souls inside him still, a tornado of power in the pit of his Grace, spurring him onwards in this just as it had spurred him on in victory against Metatron. He placed his teeth against the arch of Crowley's foot and pressed down.

Crowley allowed that only because he enjoyed seeing Cas fellate his toe and it made him think of other things in his mouth. He groaned at the licking, squirming under the almost-tickly sensation. It was strange but welcome.

"I-- ah! Cas!" The response lost in the sudden stab of heat from the bite to his apparently-sensitive foot. Interesting. He might have tormented feet with tickles or worse, but teeth? Needed filing away. He did nearly kick his angel in the process, though, and it was only Cas' hyper-awareness and speed that kept him from a busted nose. "M-maybe, but remember I'm a King and you're an - admittedly successful - soldier..." Still. He liked what was currently happening, so he used his other foot to pet at Cas' ear and shoulder.

Cas graced Crowley with a toothy grin as he dodged his flailing limb, somehow managing to catch both of the straying ankles and repositioning them over his shoulders; that way he could pay attention to one of them with his fingers, massaging into the pressure points, while the other foot found itself on the receiving end of Castiel's mouth again. He bit Crowley's heel and accompanied that action with a well-aimed slap on the behind.

"The more you posture, the more I want to break you down," Cas whispered, allowing his hand to massage Crowley's ass where the slap had landed. "Just want to peel off all the layers until you scream for me to give you more." He sucked the big toe into his mouth, using both his tongue and his teeth to send shocks of confusing sensation down Crowley's leg. "I might bite a piece off," Cas declared, casually. "Just to have an extra piece of Hell inside me." His eyes sparkled with mischievous glee.

Now the hands and mouth were nice and fun, but the overt, teasing challenge riled Crowley up in a way he wasn't altogether ready to analyse. His eyes rolled up at the mix of sensations, enjoying the pleasure chased with pain. It was doing strange - appealing - things to him. And he wanted to enjoy them. Truly he did.

Didn't stop him trying to squirm free, hands on the ground as he sat up and pulled with all his strength. "How about I just let you have bits of me inside you frequently but not permanently? That sounds better to me. Besides I already loaned you enough of Hell to go all Luke on the Emperor. How much Hell does one angel need?"

"As much as it takes," Cas growled, pushing with his shoulders against Crowley's ankles, effectively folding him in half. "Mmmm, like you like this. You look nice on your back." He rubbed his forehead up against Crowley's stubbled chin, feeling at the same time like some stray cat come crawling into Crowley's lap who wanted to be petted and a ravenous tiger who smelled blood and wanted to devour his prey. He dug his nails into Crowley's thighs to spread them further apart, lifting his own hips only to reposition himself more firmly in between the demon's thighs, cock pressed up against balls. "You _feel_ even nicer." Cas grinned down. "Are you going to be a sweet King of Hell and beg for it, or... perhaps..." his lips took a detour towards one nipple, "You'd like me to use extreme methods of persuasion?"

It should not be hot. It should not be hot to have Cas towering over him, full of his own importance. It should not stoke a black fire in the pit of his belly and it should not make Crowley simultaneously want to roll over like the pack omega to the alpha right as he wanted to fight him tooth and nail for every last tiny bit of control.

Which he would lose, right now. Castiel was a Seraph and one loaded with power he'd freely given him. Power enough to take and rule Heaven. To destroy an archangel. Crowley was most certainly trying to punch above his weight with this and that was almost... No...

He twisted at the waist as much as he could in this position, grinding against Cas' crotch. It sent lovely snarls of heat through him to do that. "Nothing worth having comes easy, angel. And the King bows to no one." His fingernails scratched eight raw lines over Cas' shoulders, rending flesh and searing warmth through skin. "Wings out," he insisted. "I haven't seen them since you got them back, darling. And for all the trouble I went to..."

His sentence got cut off because Cas has decided to sink his teeth into his flesh, around the aureola, tongue practically stabbing his nipple with sharp little jabs. He wasn't angry, he was still feeling playful, even as he sent shocks of heat from his own teeth into Crowley's body and clamped his hand over the demon's mouth to prevent him from crying out loudly enough to wake Paris.

Cas could feel the rigid straining of both their cocks underneath him. Crowley's tongue snaked out and licked the palm Cas held against his mouth, causing the angel to release the nipple from its toothy cage and refocus lust-filled eyes on his lover's face. Crowley was proud, petulant, and often impish; all qualities that Castiel appreciated in the man and often appeared mirrored within himself. He could give him what he needed while taking what he wanted.

Without a word, Castiel shut his eyes, trying to pull as much of his true wings into the same plane with them. They appeared to unfurl from the base of his shoulder blades, but that was always the optical illusion. It felt blissful to feel them spreading and opening up, taking up the entire span of the rooftop of the Arc as they stretched and blocked out the stars and the moon above both their heads.

"See something you like?" Cas asked, beaming with complacency. He knew his wings had been magnificent before, but now - dabbled with the sweat drops of his recent triumph - they were simply divine. He let his hand fall from Crowley's lips and replaced it against the base of his lover's balls, gently grazing the skin there with the pad of his thumb, a soft tease, a promise of things to come.

" _Always_ ," Crowley insisted, and he reached up to touch. He used just the tips of his fingers at first, stroking down, following the fall of the pinions, the sight of them distracting him from any disgruntlement he might feel about the rough treatment (which was, admittedly, not very much anyway). His eyes flickered back to Cas', to see what reaction his delicate touches were having, gratified to see the way Cas' lips parted and his eyes went blacker still. Crowley wound his fingers in and pulled down hard at the same time he lifted his hips up and then dropped them back down, rubbing against the hand between his legs, trying to get more. More friction. More force.

Cas' wings felt... felt... he could sense they weren't of this world, could feel the electric-blue-black of heaven. He had never understood why angelic wings were dark, not the pure, chaste white of legend. But it just made them more beautiful to him. He tugged down harder, making sure Cas had to either shake him off or fall chest-to-chest. "Tell me how it felt to win. Tell me how it feels to be _back_." Teeth closed around air right next to his mouth, the promise of bites and kisses still to come. Crowley was hungry. Very, very hungry.

Cas allowed the demon to manhandle him, the pull of Crowley's fingers against his feathers sending shivers of poignant desire out of every pore of his vessel. He slid against Crowley, his skin feeling suddenly sensitized from the rough caresses of his wings.

"It feels... right..," he began to explain, getting distracted by the way Crowley's neck arched in such close proximity to his mouth, latching his teeth to the sinews there and sucking a purpling bruise into the flesh. His fingers formed a loop around the loose flesh of Crowley's scrotum and pulled roughly, matching the tugs on his sensitive feathers. "It feels... arousing." He let go of Crowley's balls and sank the nail of his thumb right into his piss-slit. "Feels like I want to fuck you blind, is what it feels like."

Crowley bucked under the delicious, sharp pain. It whited everything out in his brain and sent all higher brain-function out the window... leaving behind just _yes_ and _now_ and _fuck_. He wrapped his legs around Castiel's waist, happy to admit he was enjoying himself now. Enjoying the hands and the teeth. Nothing he hadn't done himself a hundred thousand times before, but... better.

He pulled harder and harder on Cas' wings, hands full of feathers, tugging them like he would his cock. He wanted it to hurt. He want it to hurt _both_ of them. Ankles locked behind Cas' ass, he squirmed for all he was worth, growling in pleasure. "You better, angel. You better fuck me so hard I can't see. Because if you don't, then I'm going to have to do it to you. Make it good, Cas. Make it _hurt_." Before he could reply, he grabbed Cas' lip between his teeth and bit down as hard as he could. He wanted blood. He wanted pain. He wanted it _now_.

Castiel tasted his own blood in his mouth, but it was a dull pain: he was sheltered from experiencing his vessel completely by the cushioning of his reborn Grace. The demonic claws pulling at his feathers, however, were a completely different story. He squeezed the cock in his hand, shoving the tip of this thumb rougher into the slit, pulling on it with a lot less care than he would have in the past.

"I'll make you my bitch, Crowley, even if that means I bring this entire edifice crumbling down in ashes that raise a cloud so thick it will cover all of Paris."

He bit the demon's neck again, trailing drops of his own blood over it, then raining rough kisses and bites over his chest until he could suck the other nipple into his mouth. That seemed to distract Crowley enough for Castiel to slide his cock directly into his hole, with no preparation, and using his Grace instead of lubricant to smooth his way in. He thrust in roughly, letting go of Crowley's engorged cock, and pulling at the demon's hips with his fingers. He was burning fingerprints into the skin there - it seemed better suited to leaving unintelligible bruises. This way, there was no doubt as to whose hands have been all over the King.

"I am not... your... bitch..." The words were thick and heavy on his tongue, his tongue which was painted with his lover's coppery blood. It tasted good. It tasted of lust. It tasted of things he'd craved and held back from, wanted and rejected. He'd not wanted to hurt his lover when he was human, but now he was so much more he could let go. Could go for Cas' jugular and clamp down as though he wanted to choke the life from him, as though he were one of his own hellish dogs and Cas was his prey.

When the angel moved out of his reach, his head lowering, Crowley threw his head back and laughed with dark glee. Laughed louder still as Cas pushed inside him, taking him brutally hard. He wanted that. He _needed_ that. Needed it to sting, and needed Cas not to hold back. They both had - both had kept their strength at bay. But now they didn't need to and it was intoxicating. He wanted Cas' touches to scar and cut and mark and bruise. He wanted... Hell. He wanted his angel.

"I'm not your... FUCK... BITCH, CAS... FUCK DON'T STOP..." His head hit the monument hard, then he arched up to clamp his mouth around the mark he'd sealed into Cas' flesh not that long ago, the first thing he'd asked for: protection from demons. He bit down and laved it off with his tongue, searing the flesh clean and writing his own name in a language long dead, a mark that made no doubt about whose _he_ was, either.

Castiel hissed at the lick of pain and laughed at the recognition of the markings on his flesh. He did not object. Instead, he grabbed a handful of Crowley's hair, pulling his head back, watching his lips fall open even as his eyes grew heavy-lidded and at half-mast. He probed that slackened mouth with his tongue until he tasted sulfur and freedom and fucked into Crowley with such ferocity that he suspected there was actually a significant chance he might split his pelvis in half. (That wasn't really an image he savored... so he slowed down, just enough to ride Crowley's breaking point without causing any unsightly accidents.)

 _But you **are** ,_ Cas whispered, using only the internal voice Crowley could hear inside his mind, _You **are** my bitch. And **fuck** you are a magnificent bitch!_

He wasn't going to last much longer, but before he came, filling Crowley's insides with shot after shot of hot angel cream, he needed to hear more of the delicious begging, that wrecked voice that had been pleading with him not to stop.

"I'm not," Crowley insisted again. His voice even in Cas' head sounded less firm and more wavering. "I love you but I'm not."

His hands moved to where the wings rose from his skin, roaming from form to vessel and back. The change in sensation was nice. The change in tempo nice, too. He was also having a hard time holding on.

"Unless... you are also mine...?" He could live with that. He could handle that. That would be okay. Maybe even more than okay. And maybe good.

At the sound of the word ‘love,’ Cas drew up, his pupils constricting into tiny points as if a light had been shined right in his eyes. His wings fluttered above their heads and shimmered against the dark sky, almost like a flash of lightning.

His lover was beautiful. Radiant in his resplendent stubbornness. Cas wouldn't want him any other way.

"I am...," Cas tilted his head, holding his hips steady. "I am whatever you need me to be." He had already come into the Lord's presence bearing the demon's stench: if that did not make him Crowley's bitch, he did not know what did. He punctuated this with the resumed thrusting deep into Crowley's core.

"I need..." Crowley's chest hurt. It was tight and like someone had stretched him over a rack to pluck at his strings and pull the feelings from him like notes. "...you, angel. All of you. Even this."

He let his head fall back and gazed up at the canopy shielding them. They could be anywhere right now: Paris, chez Winchester, Hell... Heaven... They could be anywhere and he'd be content. Clumsy hands roved to his face and held on there. His eyes blinked once and found Cas'.

 _Then I am your bitch,_ he agreed, but only inside Cas' mind. He wasn't ready to speak that aloud. Not yet. _So use me like one. And please…_ He couldn't finish that, but he hoped he knew nonetheless.

Cas swallowed his would-be words with his own mouth, sending a long, deep moan reverberating against Crowley's own vocal cords.

 _I love you,_ he thought, the very idea of it shining in his mind's eye, a beacon that he sent out to his demon. _You're mine. I love you._ He was lost to the feeling of his orgasm being torn from his vessel. He felt Crowley's hands at the base of his wings, on the brink of yanking a different kind of ecstasy from his celestial limbs. His wings trembled and shot towards the sky again as he unloaded himself into his lover's tenderized hole with a cry.

Damn, but it felt good. Felt good to have Cas love him. Felt... felt like it was simply the way things should be. He'd been waiting for this longer than anyone should have to wait, and it made the years of torment and loneliness somehow just a table of contents, an introduction to his work. He was dimly aware that perhaps it made a mockery out of damnation, out of selling your soul if you then got what you wanted. Forever. Crowley didn't need Heaven, because it was right here. And he had it forever, now.

Fingers coiling feathers between them, he opened his mouth and let the words out. "Please, Cas, please... please let me... angel, have mercy on me?" His poor cock was red with hellfire and need, but he didn't dare let himself come. Not yet. Not until Cas said it was okay. His ass ached and felt full, his legs tired from holding on... but he was Cas'. And tonight at least, he'd do anything Cas wanted of him.

Castiel's own eyes were having trouble focusing. Another thrust and he was ready to collapse. But Crowley had waited for him, allowed Cas to ride out his own orgasm, patiently. Cas looked down at his lover's cock, trapped between their sweat-covered bodies.

"Yes. Of course." He slipped out and slid down the demon's body. "Come for me, baby," he exhaled and swallowed Crowley's cock with his mouth. It was the least he could do after breaking down what was likely the last of his lover's defenses. A hard-earned reward.

Fingers in his hair - not the same as his wings but familiar and comforting all the same - and Crowley rutted into his angel's throat without fear of choking him now. He didn't last for long because he was already overwrought and the sight of an angel in all his glory and power between his thighs was just too beautiful. His conquering champion beating Voice, Death and God all in one day. Winning back Heaven then coming back for him when he could have stayed gone.

His cry of bliss was loud enough that it rang through the arrondissement and he shot deep into Cas' throat, hands yanking and then it was too much touch and he was trying to pull back from his lover's lips and tongue. Words failed him and left him panting and exhausted and ridiculously happy and _glowing_.

Cas retracted his wings and closed his eyes, allowing his head to rest on Crowley's sprawled thigh. He had rolled over onto his back and looked back up towards Heaven. He wanted to enjoy a few moments of post-coital bliss, but there was much still to be done. He stroked Crowley's other leg lazily, refusing to tune into Angel Radio.

"That was a homecoming worthy of our victory," Cas finally mumbled.

With the lingering shreds of sanity he had, Crowley pushed Cas' unruly hair back from his temples, running the sweat into the thick strands. It suited him longer. It also gave him something to hold onto.

"It wasn't bad, no." His tone was warmer than his words gave him credit for. In the cooling air the heat from his body was comforting and grounding. Crowley felt a little shaken.

"I..." He stared up. "It was good of you to come back. I know you're going to be busy." He was. And Crowley wasn't going to have him all to himself any more. He was going to have to share with more than just Dean. It was bittersweet. "Just remember I need those souls back before you go again. My position is... less than stellar right now. Even getting angels off our stomping ground is going to be a hard sell for me."

Oh and I love you, he thought. I love you and you're fabulous and wonderful and perfection in a meatsuit. And mine. And everything is so big inside it hurts but I'm not going to admit to being afraid of how over-awed I am.

Cas hummed quietly at the caress of Crowley's fingers. They still radiated heat into his skull. Everything buzzed pleasantly.

"You don't have to worry about that. I'll take care of the Knights of Hell for you. I'll see that the upstart Abaddon lies crushed beneath your feet, and the treacherous angels who joined her never see the Pearly Gates again."

Cas stretched and felt the power still coursing through his vessel. Yes, he still had a lot of house to clean, but he could do it, and Crowley wouldn't have to lift a finger. After all, he owed him so much.

"Well, we need a plan of attack first. You can't just charge in half-cocked, cupcake. And I can soup you up at a click of my fingers,” Crowley answered.

He continued to stroke him, idly. It was soothing and nice. He liked to just... touch with no ulterior motive. "But how long would I stay in power if I had to bring an angel in to do my dirty work? Not to mention you'd risk your new-found moral highground." He peered down at Cas. "Shouldn't you also let them repent? Isn't that - you know - your gig? Say sorry and come home?" The more he thought about this, the more he realised he’d been wrong before.

Something flickered in the corner of Cas' eye and he drew away from the soothing touches.

"No, I... Repentance? They're beyond such things. They are monsters and monsters are to be hunted down."

He furrowed his brow and sat up, rematerializing his clothes because he had suddenly felt very naked.

"I told you - I'll take care of this for you. Don't worry about how this makes you look - if anyone looks at you in a displeasing way, I'll burn their eyes out." Cas made a movement to get up.

Crowley grabbed for him - snagging hold of his cuff - eyes suddenly haunted. "You don't mean that," he insisted. "You don't. Cas... Heaven isn't about punishing people. _Angels_ aren't about... you're starting to sound like your big brother. And we both know what happened to _him_."

"You've _met_ my family," Cas pulled his arm away. "How can you say the angels are forgiving? These bastards tried to kill you and reopen the cage to let Lucifer loose. And I _died_ for them. Well, I won't be dying for them again." He rose to his full height, towering over Crowley. His eyes shone with ominous light, like the lightning of a thunder cloud about to release its pent up energy.

Crowley dressed himself in quick succession, bounding to his feet and still grabbing for Cas’ hand. “So what? You’ve done some pretty nasty things in your time, Cas, much as you don’t like anyone pointing it out to you. And if _angels_ don’t deserve forgiveness, what… do you even _know_ who I _am_?”

Cas narrowed his eyes in keen observance of his lover’s worried face. He did not understand; far be it for Crowley to fret over such things as a few dead angels, but a situation where Crowley was telling you that you were going overboard? Well, that was simply _absurd._ He scanned the demon for further clues as to what was causing this unheard-of change in him, and his calculations amounted to nothing. Crowley did not seem ostensibly altered. It made no sense.

“Let go of me,” Cas finally spoke, firmly. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into you, but it doesn’t matter. It will be taken care of, whether you want me to do it or not.”

“Cas, don’t do it. Please don’t do it. Let me do it if anyone has to… I don’t want another Lucifer. You planning on taking Hell as well as Heaven?” Not that it was the real issue, here. The real issue was if Cas didn’t think angels could be forgiven, then what the hell did that leave Crowley with? “Give me back my souls, Cas. You have your kingdom, and I have mine.”

Castiel pursed his lips and his eyelashes fluttered in a way that was peculiarly menacing.

“No,” he stated and threw Crowley a challenging look, as if he was trying to see how far the demon would go. His lips twitched in a cruel imitation of a smile.

Fine. If he was going to play it that way, Crowley would just have to do the same. He squared off - toe to toe - and narrowed his own eyes. He let go of Cas’ sleeve, to sort out his own cuffs, preening without thinking of it.

“Yes.” His head tilted to one side, sizing him up. “And as no one else is going to tell you this, then I will. **Yes**. Give them back.” He opened a hand and held it palm up. “Give, Cas. You’re letting it get to your head again, and I’m not going to see you do this _twice_.”

“You think because I _allow_ you to put your paws all over me, you somehow get to tell me what to do? How to run Heaven?” He could feel the heat inside his vessel growing. The looming shadows of his wings began to shimmer in the twilit sky behind him. “You are not _my_ King, and you are _certainly_ not my God.”

“No, I’m neither. I’m the demon who loves you, you self-righteous ass. Who doesn’t want you to turn into shithead Cas again. You’re turning… you’re turning into another damn fallen angel and I’ve seen enough of those to last me all the lifetimes I’ve lived through. _This_ is not you. This?” Crowley shoved a finger into his chest. “This is the Hell in you talking. And last time I let you get away with it, and this time I’m not going to.” Anger rising in his own eyes… “And if you’re not capable of forgiving then maybe I was wrong to fall in love with you? I don’t know. You tell me…?”

Something wasn’t right, and Castiel couldn’t quite place a finger on it. This wasn’t like that time with Naomi, a voice inside his head yelling “Kill him!” There wasn’t an itch at the back of his brain that he couldn’t scratch. The worst part about this was that it felt _familiar,_ like they had both been there before and simply picked up exactly where they had left off. He lowered the angel blade from his sleeve, trying to remember what it was that he was supposed to actually _do_.

“Stop talking. You’re just trying to confuse me,” Cas frowned, feeling the celestial light pool behind his irises.

Crowley took a half-step back, eyes going down to the dagger, then back up to Cas’ eyes. For a moment he was ready to run. Ready to escape. Ready to flee and live and fight another day… but no. It was Cas. Underneath it all, he knew it was still Cas. And he was worth the risk, and he was worth fighting for. He stepped back in, and touched his fingers to the hand around the shank, fighting down the fear. Very real and very rational fear.

“No, Cas. I’m trying to help you.” His fingers rubbed gently at the gaps between his knuckles. “You’re better than this, Cas. You’re strong enough to say no.” His tongue flickered out over his lips and he swallowed. “Cas… can’t anyone be forgiven? Do you really believe that? Look me in the eye and tell me that and make me believe it… and I’ll let you go.”

 _This_ part was different. The hand touching, that look in Crowley’s face. He was poignantly _not_ mocking Castiel, no, the demon was entirely sincere, which is what made it even more terrifying. There was something very important that Cas couldn’t remember. He shook with frustration. He needed to remember what it was!

He stared blankly at the fingers caressing his knuckles. With a flick of his wrist, he could sever them off with his angel blade. He could sever it all.

“Help me,” he said, his voice sounding distant and empty. “I can’t…” Something was flashing in red alarm in the back of his mind. The desert sands, an inscribed knife, a willing sacrifice. Wasn’t this what he had been brought back to do? To slay all that stood in the way of Divine Glory? He had already killed Metatron, and now he was supposed to kill… who was it? The woman with the bright red hair? No, she was irrelevant. He raised his eyes to Crowley’s face.

His chest hurt, as if an anvil had been sitting right over his heart.

“Help me,” he repeated, fingers clutching tighter at the angel blade.

Crowley’s fingers slid between Cas’, and he tugged the hand away from them both. Somewhere safer… somewhere less close to them. Where he could keep tugging at it and try to slide it from his grasp. “Let go, Cas - angel. Let go.”

He stepped closer in, knowing he was coming into range but also knowing he had to do it. Had to risk this. His other hand pressed onto Cas’ shoulder and his thumb rubbed slow, slow circles. “Open up… open up Cas and I’ll take them all back out. Just let me in, and this can all be over, and you can just be Castiel again. You did good. You won the war. You don’t need to fight any more: it’s over, Cas. It’s over.”

Cas’ vision flickered again, as if someone was drawing Venetian blinds open and closed before his gaze. Crowley’s voice sounded soothing. Familiar. Like coming home.

“I can’t,” Cas muttered, helplessly. “I’m sorry, I can’t. There is still… so much to do… so much to…” He leaned into Crowley’s touch on his shoulder. “What if I let go and… I fail?”

Crowley pulled the knife free and tossed it to the ground where it clattered noisily. Hands moving to hold a bicep each, staring unblinkingly up at him. "You won't. You won't fail. And I'm here for you, and I love you. Come on. Cas. It's time you trust _me_."

There it was again - that word, the ‘love’ word. Crowley's hands were two grounding points of heat against Cas' arms. For some reason, he couldn't remember why, but the love word was important, wasn't it? He tried to relax in Crowley's grip. The cool air of a nighttime Parisian breeze blew across his face.

"Alright," Cas whispered, feeling something release inside him.

Crowley took the moment and _pulled_ , finding the threads of the many, many souls writhing around like a knotted mess of snakes about the bright hot core of angel underneath. They were both familiar to him, but the souls were the thing he knew longest. They protested just for a moment before he managed to ease the grip, then they came funnelling out through his palms and down towards Hell. Briefly he considered seeing if he could hold onto them himself, but the thought was dismissed as soon as it came, his eyes flickering just once with the colour of liquid sulphur… and then they were back where they belonged and he felt momentarily empty.

And then they were the angel and the demon again, with nothing else interfering. Crowley rose onto the balls of his feet - needing to feel taller - and smashed his mouth against Cas’, needing to feel _him_.

Cas' eyes had been closed and the touch of the familiar, simmering softness of Crowley's lips jarred him out of his near-slumber. He opened his mouth and welcomed his lover in, pressing into the kiss, deepening it. His hands instinctively found their way to Crowley's hair, fingers pressed into the ridges of the skull. Everything felt in its right place.

"What happened?" Castiel asked, pulling away after his lips had become bruised and swollen, his deep sea blues focusing in on the amber hazel of the demon's eyes.

Crowley was breathless - but not from physical need - when the kiss ended. His whole chest hurt and he found his hands were shaking. It took a second to notice and stop them.

“...what do you remember, my angel food cake?” The pet name felt a little strained but he hoped Cas didn’t notice.

"I remember..." There was a gradation of images, some as sharp as the angel blade itself, some fuzzy around the edges, some obscure and fleeting like frightened ghosts. "Heaven. And Metatron." Yes, he had killed the Voice: that much was clear. "I remember coming here. And..." He blushed. He remembered the sex too, but through that fuzzy lens. A part of him couldn't believe how raw it was, the rush of it, the sheer sexual power he felt from his lover's coaxed submission. "Th-that... was hot." He hoped Crowley would understand without needing to articulate it. "And then..."

Everything fell apart.

"I'm drawing a blank after the... you know... sex," he finished. He gave Crowley a heart-breakingly earnest look. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm not sure I was entirely _myself_ , you know."

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Crowley said smoothly, brushing it under the carpet with aplomb he almost felt. “You went a little… Old Testament. You know. Sodom and Gomorrah. A little Loki King of the Asgard. Jack Bauer, Queen of the Amazons… but it’s all back to normal, now… right?” His eyes were searching Cas’ face, saying much more than his words would.

Although he didn’t think he’d mind the sexy funtimes part of that happening again, the almost-going-on-a-murder-spree? That he could live without.

Cas felt a shiver run through his body and, with a the quickest of movements, he pulled Crowley flush against his chest, burrowing his nose in the demon's hair.

"I could have hurt you. I don't know what I would have done if I had hurt you." He shut his eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to come pouring out. Even contemplating such an eventuality as a hypothetical was too much for the resurgent angel to handle. "Thank you," he whispered. "For never giving up on me." He pressed his arms tighter around Crowley, feeling the rhythm of their vessels' hearts beating in unison.

A pause and Crowley returned the hug, squeezing him in tight. “You wouldn’t hurt me, silly old bear. Besides. I can just run away if you ever decide to go all Darth Vader on me.” He stroked low on his angel’s back, feeling… strange. He knew he’d been acting… odd. For him. Ever since they started… dating? Yes. He would have to use that word. What with all the wining, dining, romantic get-aways and ritual murdering. You only did that in a serious long-term relationship. Anything else was just casual (and fun) sex.

“Besides. I let you get away with it once before, when… when I should have just called you out on it then. You don’t fool me twice like that.” Even if he almost did. Even if Crowley just… gave him all his unholy battering ram without a single safeguard in place. If he thought about it too long he’d get stuck in how ridiculous this was. But then… that was love for you.

“You should stay here with me for a little bit. Before you go back home, I mean. And then I’ll go work up the next stage of our masterplan with Rocky and Bullwinkle and then we’ll all live happily ever after.”

In that moment, Cas would have done anything Crowley was asking of him, and the only thing he was asking was for him to _stay_. A flash of something ugly sparked in the back of his mind: a memory leaking through and with it the fear of what might have been.

"Of course," Cas whispered, rubbing his cheek up against Crowley's. "I'll stay as long as you want. But... you should know. What you said before? About angels and forgiveness?" He felt Crowley tense up in his arms. "You don't need me to forgive you. You helped fix Heaven. You fixed _me_. You've never gone back on a promise. You're amazing, you're better than me, and I love you so much." He slid his hands down to rest against Crowley's lower back, softly stroking there in soothing circles. "You're my everything."

“I have a lot to atone for. I don’t think it’s as simple as… do a few nice things so you’re on an angelic promise when you get home and the slate’s wiped clean, Cas. Besides. It was all completely selfish, when you get down to it.” Still, he kissed Cas’ temple. “Let’s just consider it a work in progress, shall we darling?”

He pulled back out of Cas’ arms, just enough to sit down - legs trailing over the edge of the monument - and he patted the space next to him. “Come here. The angels can wait a little bit longer. Besides, they’re probably off baking you a ridiculous cake by now. It would be rude to show up too soon and disrupt their surprise party, wouldn’t it?”

Cas sat and took Crowley’s hand in his. The plains of the Champs de Mars opened up before their eyes. In the morning, they would be verdant and brimming with flora. Cas put his head on Crowley’s shoulder and awaited the sunrise.

***

Heaven was safe and stable, the stragglers coming back with their wings between their legs and remorse on their faces. Some of them were even genuine. Hell followed shortly after, and was considerably easier to retake control of. Abaddon put up a fight - Crowley had expected nothing less - but she’d fallen. And he’d stood before the amassed legions of Hell and called them out.

No one was foolish enough to go up against someone who had destroyed a Knight of Hell and had Heaven backing them up. And that was the end of it. If the demons still considered their leader insane, they didn’t say so aloud and nothing came of it. Not for now, anyway.

Crowley decided that the best time to approach Dean was when they were both in a good mood following their latest victory, before the ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ was no longer fresh in his mind and they had to work out how to both do their respective duties without brutally murdering one another. Because that always put a dampener on polite conversation.

Sam was only too happy to take Cas off somewhere to do whatever Sams did with Cases. It might have involved pancakes or it might have involved chainmail or… well Crowley had no clue and he didn’t really care because he knew Sam respected property and was disgustingly _moral_ as well as tall.

Leaving him with Dean. Alone. For… well, could he even remember the last time? No. It was so long ago it felt like another lifetime. He went to the fridge and fetched a bottle of beer for him and offered it to the hunter as a peace offering… or bribe.

“You deserve this. So drink up, Deanie-baby. And… accept Hell’s profoundest thanks.”

Dean startled. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the idea of the King of Hell casually lounging around the place he had come to think of as _his_ home. At some point, he’d probably need to talk to Cas about moving out - a concept that seemed silly and gratuitous, given that Cas was an angel again, and therefore had no more need of a bedroom.

Cautiously, he reached his hand out for the beer and gave Crowley a suspicious look.

“Uh… yeah, man,” Dean said, noncommittally and looked towards the TV again when the latest preposterous reality show was helping him unwind.

Crowley decided that was enough of an invitation and sat on the chair closest to Dean but far enough away that he wasn’t in his personal space, due to not wanting to risk being stabbed before he had a chance to pull back.

“Dean. I know… you and I have not always seen eye to eye. Or batted for the same team. But… I like to think you… realise that I’m not…” Fuck. All the nice things he’d prepared were just… dying into nothing. So much for being the King of Polished Dialogue. “Cas. Me.” That was simple enough.

“Um…” Dean squinted. Laughing in the King of Hell’s face would have probably been the wrong decision. Besides, it actually seemed like the King of Sass was actually trying to be sincere, if extremely cryptic and generally ineloquent. “Yeah. You and Cas. It’s a beautiful love story. Right up there with _Romeo and Julio_.” Well, that last one couldn’t be helped, Dean shrugged.

“Touché, but your narrow-minded ideas on tessellating parts really don’t bother me.” He sat back, finding a bit more refuge in defending himself than… the other thing. “And hopefully our story is somewhat less tragic. And less… melodramatic.” Crowley shrugged.

“Although he does actually have rather a large collection of brothers and sisters - all of whom are even less impressive conversationalists than your good self - I know he… considers you boys to be his family. Which is why I wanted to impress upon you the - ah - honourable nature of my intentions towards him, if you understand me?”

“Dude… _what_?”

“I’m asking for your blessing, Dean. So. If you’d be kind enough to nod or shake your head, and I can then go off and cry myself into a nice bottle of Craig, that would be grand.”

“What do you need my blessing for?” Dean’s eyes got impossibly bigger and greener. “You’ve already been boning him quite happily for a number of months now, a fact which, incidentally, has caused me and Sam to invest in a Costco-sized supply of earplugs.”

“I’m not going to apologise for that, because I regularly wish I could remove my own eyeballs over… but let’s not dwell on the past!” Crowley tried very, very hard to just appear ridiculously chipper, without the underlying ‘shit this was a bad idea Sam would have said yes’ which was increasingly pushing through the wide shit-eating smile.

“...I want your blessing for when I… when I ask Castiel to make me an honest demon, Dean. Now if that’s not clear enough for you I am perfectly capable of drawing up some diagrams and perhaps some videos? Would an audio-visual presentation help? Perhaps with a handout?”

Dean wasn’t even standing or really sitting properly, but he fell over. He wasn’t sure how it happened, he just sort of _sank_ deeper into the cushions of the sofa and then just sort of slumped. He had to place the beer down onto the coffee table lest he spill it all over the vintage Men of Letters furniture.

“Are you frickin’ asking me for Cas’ hand in marriage?” Dean swallowed. He swallowed hard. This was by far the last thing he expected to happen when he woke up that morning. The look Crowley was giving him made him feel like the King of Idiots. “Oh my god… You _are_. Holy shit… You want to marry him. Is that even a thing that’s _done_ by your kind?”

“Well it’s that or we adopt small fluffy animals or babies, and I already have a kennel full of invisible hounds and babies don’t taste as good as they make out. So. Yes. And in answer to your other question… no it is not a - ah - particularly common… no. Demons do not, habitually, go into houses of the Lord and pledge their undying love for anything other than themselves. But I’m the King and therefore I can do what I want. And I want to do Cas. I mean. Marry Cas. And then do him… some more. But that should go without saying, really?”

“Um, yeah, okay, stop now.” Dean brought his hands up to cover his ears and shook his head to dislodge the images Crowley insisted on putting in there. Why couldn’t Cas have fallen in love with a nice girl demon instead, like Sam did? “So. Wow. This is… really important to you, huh?” Dean smirked. Crowley wanted something from him and it was something he never thought he’d see Crowley need - _approval_.

“Well I would hardly say it’s a joke, Dean, and your flippancy is not appreciated.” Crowley went back to straightening his lapel out. It didn’t need doing. “I’m going to ask him even if you say no, so don’t think you can stop me. I just… he thinks a lot of you and therefore it seemed… _right_.” The word was spat out, like it was dirty. “Call me old fashioned, but back when I was human you did this sort of thing… properly. Not a one night stand in Vegas.” His amber eyes fixed on Dean’s, attempting to burn through his head until he said ‘yes’. Being polite was apparently not working.

Dean stared, mouth agape, until such time that he apparently realized that ‘fish’ was not a good look on him.

“Crowley, you’re killing me. Since when are you such a romantic _and_ a gentleman? Holy fuck, Cas really did a number on you!” Dean smirked. Perhaps he was being unkind, but it wasn’t every day that you got to witness the aftereffects of lovesickness in the damned. But he also knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that much intensity: he had known Cas for years and he could still feel his nuts withering underneath that mile-long stare oftentimes. He still knew he would do anything for his best friend. He wondered briefly what it would have felt like if had been as in love with Castiel as Crowley seemed to be. He wondered if he was capable of feeling love like that.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to shake that train of thought. He was happy for them, he truly was. They found love under impossible circumstances. Surely, they deserved to be happy?

“What do you even say for your vows, man?” Dean finally spoke again. “You can’t do the whole ‘death do us part’ bit because - well…”

“We’ll come to that when he says ‘yes’,” Crowley replied. “And… thank you for reminding me yet again that I’m…” now his eyes lowered. “...rather setting myself up for… a long time. But. I’ve considered that, too. I’m…” eyes up. “I’m in this for the long run, Dean. Which is why I want to make it perfect, and not just… some half-hearted gesture. So… will you… will you come if he does say yes?”

“To your wedding?” Dean picked up his beer again, taking a long swallow. “Dude.” He pictured Cas in a white dress and he wasn’t even a little weirded out by it. It had been a long year. “Yeah. Of course. Hell, I wouldn’t miss it for the Apocalypse!” Dean gave Crowley a cautious smile. “Only,” he startled, “Don’t restart the Apocalypse.” He felt the need to confirm that understanding. “And don’t ever hurt him. I don’t care if I’ve been dead for hundreds of years - if you ever hurt him, I’ll find you, and kill you!” There. That seemed like a fatherly/brotherly thing to say.

“No Apocalypse: check. No hurting Cas: also check.” The smile was genuine before he managed to remember to look like he should look in public and layered over the old Crowley. “Your terms are acceptable, and I will deliver a suitable dowry of camels and a few swimming pools’ worth of whatever vile stuff you consider to be your tipple of choice… now… I feel utterly filthy from having this conversation and I think I need to go off and torture someone. So… don’t tell him, or I swear you’ve never known Hell. I’ll make Alistair look like a Cabbage Patch Kid. Capiche?”

“Oh, thank god,” Dean sighed in relief. “You sound like yourself again. I thought I was losing my mind.” Crowley’s look was unflinching. “I capiche. Don’t worry about it - I’m as mute as the grave. So to speak.”

“You better wear a nice hat, future mother-in-law.” Crowley grinned and vanished before Dean could get an answer in.

“Cocky bastard,” Dean muttered to himself and took another swig of his nearly-finished beer.

***

Angels and demons did not _need_ to eat and drink, but Crowley had long indulged his inner gourmand. It was easier to get the good things in his afterlife than it had been in his (nasty, short, brutish) first life. And Castiel had enjoyed all the pleasures of the flesh when he’d been human, so Crowley thought perhaps he would still enjoy them now he was an angel again.

“Dress nice,” he’d said, and left Cas to pick his own wardrobe. He ended up picking out a light grey three piece suit because he knew that Crowley enjoyed the look of vest on him and that his demon lover had always insisted that black was too ‘funereal’. His french cuffs were accented in small onyx cufflinks set in platinum: they had been a gift from Crowley in the mortal days, and it was nice to see that Cas hadn’t since discarded them.

For himself Crowley had picked a dark charcoal double-breasted jacket and properly pressed trousers, a slightly paler slate shirt, the barest flash of waistcoat when he leaned and a fine silk paisley tie in a navy so dark as to almost be black. The cufflinks were silver, little circles with embossed ‘C’s embellished with vintage swirls behind that almost resembled wings if you felt like reading meaning into his dress, or bothered to look. His shoes were perfectly polished and he cut as fine a figure as he could manage. It was important to do these things right, after all.

He held his arm out for Castiel to take - ever the gentleman, gentledemon, whatever - and walked him up to the maître d’. He did feel like he’d outdone himself this time. The restaurant he’d picked was the Breeze, sitting atop the fine Lebua hotel in Bangkok. It overlooked the twinkling lights of the city, and below they could see the winding of the river Chao Phraya. A few other couples were already dining, but they were taken straight to what had to be the best table in the house. It sat close to the edge of the roof, and they could see the long, neon-glowing skybridge to one side like a tongue from the mirrored pyramid that was the focal point of the whole scene.

On the pristine white tabletop there was a single candle burning beside a red carnation in a vase. Crowley insisted on pulling Cas’ chair out for him, bowing slightly. “My prince… I trust this is all to your satisfaction?”

Cas took the restaurant and the place settings in at a glance. The tips of his ears were already burning: he knew Crowley, and he knew that he didn’t go all out like this unless he was trying to make a grandiose gesture.

“It’s… perfect, actually. You’ve really outdone yourself,” Cas smiled. “Which is saying a lot after our time at Les Deux Magots.”

He took a seat and instinctively reached towards the flower: it was freshly plucked and its tiny red petals felt velvety beneath his fingertips. Perfect. He looked up at Crowley, watching him take his own seat, suddenly feeling overcome with shyness at being the focus of so much planning and attention. It was par for the course for Crowley to spoil him when he had been human - after all, he had felt like he had lost so much - but now, ostensibly, there was no reason for such a display. Surely, the rooftop of the Arc de Triomphe had been token of celebration enough?

“Angel,” Crowley started, making sure the centre creases of his trousers fell just right as he took his chair, pulling it up to the table and then reaching to take one of Cas’ hands in his own. “You deserve nothing less than the world served to you on a silver platter. And as such I have made it my sacred duty to spoil you beyond measure and compare.” He rubbed over the bone at the base of his thumb, eyes firmly on his beloved. There was nothing but sparkling sincerity and devotion there. He knew - on some level - that if the him of a year ago could see him now? Well that Crowley would probably try to exorcise, salt or knife him in shame for how… _gooey_ and _good_ he was being. But that was the Crowley before Castiel, and he preferred this version of himself by far.

“Order anything you want, oh sparkling _Polaris_ of my night sky. This is all for you.” He lifted Cas’ hand and kissed his knuckles - tongue just sneaking out briefly to tease - and then he lowered it to look at the menu. He was not-so-secretly pleased to see his angel flushing under all the attention… it was the point, after all.

Crowley ordered a bottle of Cristal. His starter was double-boiled soup with abalone, dried scallops, superior shark's fin, sea cucumber and dried shiitake mushrooms, followed by wok-fried live Australian lobster.

Cas looked down at the menu set before him and felt a sort of mental trepidation at the ingredients listed. Unbidden, he thought of the Winchesters, and how they would be hard pressed to recognize some of these dishes as human food. The seared Alaskan diver scallops, for example, were accompanied by pear and ossetra caviar - a thing that Cas found ostentatiously over the top.

"I think one might go to hell simply for eating here," Cas observed casually, finally pointing to an item on the appetizer menu. "This sounds vaguely sexual - I'll have that." It was roasted duck and caviar wrapped in a spinach pancake with hoi sin sauce.

"On the contrary, I am sure if your father was still with us then this would be high on his list of favourite places. It was his illegitimate child who was the heathen. He'd probably take you for a Happy Meal. And then give the toy to a leper child."

Crowley reached out with a foot under the table, toeing at the inside of Cas' ankle. "I hope you still have an appetite for the finer things. I'm not embarrassing your inner Grace am I?"

They did not have long to wait for their appetizers. Crowley didn't actually feel hungry - his stomach skipping nervously - but he tried his best. His plan was to last out to dessert but it was becoming increasingly difficult to wait.

Cas opened his mouth to say something righteous, something about how wrong it seemed to be living the sybaritic lifestyle while so many in the world starved. Instead, he pressed his ankle closer to Crowley's toe and beamed at him from underneath his thick eyelashes.

"Oh, what the hell. My father had you stab me in the heart, I think a little indulgence at the end of the day is in order." He wanted to lean across the table and kiss Crowley, but he wasn't sure how the Bangkok audience would react to such a blatant display of affection. He reached across the table to take Crowley's hand back in his. "Thank you, your majesty."

"Precisely. If you like, and it makes you feel better, I can bend you over my knee and spank you for every calorie later? If it helps with your self-image."

He kept their contact under the table, wondering if perhaps room service in the best suite might have been a better idea. They would have eaten even less then.

Right on cue - with their main course - the finest string quartet money could buy came up to their table. Crowley just beamed at Castiel as they struck up Tchaikovsky's First, going into the Andante Cantabile movement. With some effort he reached over to feed Cas some of his own dish, willing his hand not to shake. "How is that?" He was trying for suave and debonair, but his nervous anticipation was cutting through. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this in public. What if Cas said no?

Cas leaned over to taste the proffered dish, unable to disguise the happy grin on his face. He wasn't sure what had gotten into Crowley, but he appreciated it.

"Mmmmmm... amazing," the angel nodded, trying to savor the dish.

At the first sounds of the musical chords, Cas swiveled in his chair. He was also not expecting that.

"Tchaikovsky! My favorite." He brushed his foot against Crowley's leg again. "His music is so full of unrequited longing," he muttered, seeming rather far away as his eyes followed the musicians' bows across the strings.

"You probably heard it played the first time," Crowley mused. He wondered if these artists would have pleased the master. He liked to think so. They seemed to pull more than just music from their instruments, and he had to fight not to cry at how his beautiful angel seemed so raptured.

Because he was. Beautiful. Not just his - admittedly easy on the eye - vessel. He was beautiful inside. And so quick to joy, so close to wonder.

Sod it. Crowley had waited long enough. When the movement ended he snapped his fingers and from somewhere on the riverbanks the fireworks went flying: noisy rockets to start that screeched up into a messy explosion that reminded Crowley of _other_ things. Bright rainbow sparks (not as subtle as they could have been, but too late now) and then when they finished an inferno of little bursts that sparkled out in a rough heart shaped pink cloud.

Crowley made sure Cas was transfixed on those before he dropped to one knee before him, reaching inside for the little black box that had been burning a hole in his pocket. He snapped it open - cheeks flushing hot - and revealed the single thick band of platinum with a deeply inset round onyx stone in that lay flush to the metal.

"Cas..." He cleared his throat. "Castiel. You said once that you would say yes if I asked... So I'm asking you from the bottom of what passes for my heart... would you do me the incomparable honour of saying yes, forever?"

Castiel blinked. He had not realized that there was moisture in his eyes because when his eyelashes descended and sent two shallow streams running down his cheeks he was surprised. He should have seen this coming, really, the choice of venue, the attire, the string quartet - he knew Crowley and he knew his lover did nothing half way. But even after everything had been through together, he didn’t expect… _this_.

Instinctively, he grabbed both of Crowley’s wrists with his hands, to steady himself, to steady _both_ of them. The stone in the ring matched his cufflinks perfectly, as if Crowley expected him to pick them to wear for the occasion, without even knowing the true reason for it. Cas looked at the ring in his lover’s hands, then into his eyes; he could feel the teardrops sliding slowly down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor in between the two of them as if time had slowed down and held its breath for him.

“I can’t breathe,” Cas muttered.

That was nonsensical and irrelevant, he didn’t _need_ to breathe. But that wasn’t what he meant; he wanted to say that Crowley had taken his breath away: that would have been more accurate.

“This is…” he tried again, but was stopped by the expression on Crowley’s features. His lover seemed to withdraw inside himself. Oh... no. He had mistaken Castiel’s shock for a refusal.

“Yes!” Cas quickly corrected his lapse. “Yes. Of course. A thousand times yes. If you ask me every day for all eternity, it will always be yes.” He spoke quickly, in the hopes of erasing the smallest doubt his seeming hesitation may have put into his lover’s heart. “Please,” he added, tightening his fingers around Crowley’s wrists, pulling him closer from his kneeling position. “Please never leave me.”

"Not ever in a single day," was the hushed response, and Crowley allowed Cas to pull him closer.

He'd said yes. He'd said... yes.

Impulsively he surged up from the ground and his freed hand knotted in Cas' hair, tilting his head back to give him free access to kiss him. Which he did. Firm and relentless, like the move of mountains. He didn't even process the cheering from the other patrons of the Breeze because all he could feel was Cas' lips on his, the damp of his cheek against the side of his own face and the hand around his wrist.

Castiel had said yes.

“Is this for me to wear now or do we save it for the wedding?” The angel asked, eyes indicating the ring, still blushing softly from the sound of murmurs and cheering around them, heart overflowing with a whirlwind of emotions. He unclenched Crowley’s wrist and ran his fingers gently along the demon’s newly clean-shaven jaw: he should have noticed that too. “And how soon can we get out of here?”

"You can wear it now if you like. I... don't really know if there's protocol for this situation." He bit his lip, pondering. Then he held the box out for Cas to decide. "I had one made for me, too." He pulled the ring from the box and tilted it so Cas could see inside was an anti-demon ward... with one subtle difference. A line was broken, rendering it null and void. An open invitation, instead of a rejection.

"...and whenever you like. I took the liberty of booking the penthouse suite. Just in case..." The demon looked rather hopeful and perhaps a little shy. He would slaughter anyone who said as much, though.

"Demons welcome," Cas said quietly with a private smile full of promise. He extended the fingers of his left hand, waiting for Crowley to slip the token of his eternal love on.

"Hopefully just the one," Crowley agreed, and went back down to one knee in order to do it properly. He slid the thick metal band on, then lifted Cas' hand to kiss it demurely.

Then he reached in and found the box's brother, and offered it to Cas. It was a perfect copy, barring the sigil inside being a broken anti-angel ward. It had seemed like a good idea... a little reminder of what they'd overcome, permanently against skin. "Would you... be so kind?"

Cas couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he took the platinum band out of the box. The memories of all their near-misses, the maudlin jokes, the beating around a variety of bushes (some of them burning), were circling in his mind as he slipped the ring over Crowley's extended fingers and mirrored the kiss by bringing it to his lips.

"You love me," Cas whispered against the skin of Crowley's hand. Somehow, that had been more important to him than "I love you," because it was so much more about _him_ , about Castiel, that Crowley would accept him after everything, would want him, would love him, when everything around them had said ‘No, this cannot be’.

"I thought that part was understood, Cas." Crowley's grin was... goofily happy. And again. He would eviscerate anyone who called him on that. It was more 'lovestruck puppy' than 'lord of all the damned'. "Do I need to feed you pudding from a spoon or is it safe to say that the cake can wait til we're wed?" He'd wait, if Cas wanted to. Wait and eat cake and smile in front of everyone... but neither of them _needed_ cake, and Crowley knew he needed something _else_ rather significantly more.

"I love you - always have loved you - always _will_ love you - and want to make sure you know that every day from now until the end of the universe. Which we may well both see." His jaw twitched a little at that. It was... terrifying in a way. Even worse than the feeling of adoration that made him crazy, made him throw everything to the wind. The knowledge of _eternity_ , in a way only the truly religious seemed to believe in these days. But they had no proof of it, and Crowley _did_.

"Take me to the penthouse," was all Castiel said, his eyes going cloudy with need.

"Your wish is my command..." Crowley stood and tugged Cas to his feet, too, pulling him bodily in as though they were about to dance.

The other patrons of the restaurant would swear the very nice couple left normally, but none of them could quite remember how if pushed.

He had booked the very best room in the house. Large windows that overlooked the world and let no one see in, a fine living room replete with couches and cushions and baskets of fruit and any number of things they didn't need. A bed larger than was decent strewn with petals (because he was sure that that was needed, and no one would convince him it was at all tacky) and the Bolero playing.

Crowley turned Cas in a tight circle, dancing him around despite their relative height, one hand still holding his and the other low on his back.

"Do you object to being ravished, my affianced? Because now would be the time to tell me so. You're so beautiful I can barely keep my hands off you..."

Cas felt giddy, the champagne and the ring on his finger radiating warmth through his limbs. Now that he was an angel again, he didn’t get tipsy as easily, but his time as a human had honed his ability to tune into those barbiturate responses when he wanted to. He very much wanted to now. He needed to feel drunk, because feeling sober at a moment like this was utterly unacceptable. He laughed and went lax in Crowley’s arms.

“I would object in the strongest fashion if you tried to keep your hands off me,” he replied, blinking slowly and drawing his face within an inch of Crowley’s. He felt his entire body buzzing with the need to surrender.

"So I don't have to wait until I'm an honest demon..." They were close enough to kiss, but Crowley didn't let Cas have that. Not yet. He took the ease with which his angel fell into his arms as an invitation to bend him backwards as far as he could. His eyes shut and he just... lingered in the moment...

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." A peck to the side of his mouth. "And I have seen a _lot_ of things." A drag of lip over lip. "Now I want to..." He picked the angel up off his feet with no effort, then tossed him the short distance onto the bed. He followed with no hesitation, crowding over him, hands on either side of his head, staring down from too close. "...unwrap you and worship you from head to toe..." The kiss he'd been threatening finally landed, lips sealing over Cas', not even using his tongue until Cas was ready to beg him for it.

Cas felt boneless, malleable like putty, and he very much wanted Crowley to mould him with his hands. His lips were open under his lover’s - betrothed’s - seeking mouth and he moaned softly into the kiss, arching a bit off the luxurious mattress to press his body against Crowley’s.

But Crowley wasn’t so easily persuaded, and he used his teeth to pull at Cas’ lower lip, tugging gently and refusing to use his tongue just yet. No. He wanted Cas broken and whimpering before he’d do that. He pressed against him - groin to groin - rubbing fine fabrics together. He was already hard enough that it felt horribly decadent and indecent to ruin good clothes, but it was for a worthy cause. When he could feel Cas was getting impatient he licked just once, then pulled back to stare him in the eye.

“ _Perfection_ ,” Crowley said, his voice rich and happy. Nose to nose, letting the moments between kisses drag until it hurt physically to hold back. Only then did he glide a wet tongue over Cas’ mouth and demand he open up.

Cas was whimpering and he wasn’t ashamed of it. With a flicker of his mind, he could have completely switched the rules of the game on Crowley, but not tonight. Tonight, he ached to surrender. He had already said ‘yes’ with his lips, now he wanted to say ‘yes’ with his body, with every pore of his vessel, with every ounce of his Grace. He reached up to drape his fingers over the tendons on the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him closer, opening his mouth to be plundered by his beloved’s tongue, moaning with each stroke of their brushing against each other.

“Baby… darling…” Cas muttered, breathlessly, in between kisses. “Take me. _God_ , I want you.”

Crowley’s voice was inhumanly low. “Oh, I will, angel - light of my life - I will take you so hard you never, ever forget.” He kissed him once more, hand up to work the knot of tie around his throat loose. He untangled the tongues of silk with one hand - one very, very experienced hand - and dragged it away from the shirt with the rough sound of material scraping together. The jacket was unfastened and fell open around his angel. He wanted to burn every last sensation deep into his lover’s mind, wanted no shortcuts or easy ways out. The magic was in the moment, not in the things you missed.

Deft fingers unbuttoned the stiff collar, baring warm skin. Kisses trailed down over his jaw and to his jugular, tongue flickering where he could sense the coppery tide of blood under the surface. He lapped over the flesh, and down to the sharp lines of his clavicles, fingers still pulling fabric back to let him in. The music played slowly on, but he was oblivious to it. All he could hear was the sounds of them and of need. “I’m not going to take you until you go mad from me not doing it, Castiel. Until you realise that you can’t live without it. Without me. Until you give me every last bit of your mind as much as your heart and body… because I want _all_ of you, angel. All.”

“I do,” Cas arched up, impatiently wrapping one leg over Crowley’s thigh. His hands had snuck into the folds of the demon’s jacket and were already pulling at the seams of his tailored shirt, threatening utter ruin to the fabric. “I can’t bear it when you’re not touching me.” He loved the tease of it, but he loved the touch of Crowley’s preternaturally warm skin even more. He threw his head back, baring his neck to Crowley’s assault, as he tried to get his fingers to penetrate more layers.

“Well…” pushing the shirt back to expose his chest, teeth scraping down to tease one already-pert nipple to further attention, “...I’m going to touch you until the end of time. And then I’m going to beg God for more time, just to touch you some more…”

Crowley took Cas’ hands and pulled them away and pressed them down into the bed, holding him with no force. It wasn’t a matter of violence, it was a matter of intent. Teeth holding the flesh in place his tongue flickered over and over, pushing to the point of discomfort, pushing until Cas started to squirm… then he smiled up at him. “If I hadn’t already, I would sell my soul for you. If I could do it twice, then I would.” He moved to pay the same attention to his other little nub, pulling until Cas groaned from it.

It hurt, but deliciously so. The wet friction from Crowley’s tongue, flicking quickly against the tender skin of Cas’ erect nipples: it drove him utterly mad. It wasn’t fair for a man’s nipples to be this sensitive, he thought, part in resentment, part in gratitude that his vessel still worked to bring him so much joy from Crowley’s ministrations.

“You always say the sweetest things,” Cas moaned, keeping his hands obediently pressed into the bed. “I’m losing my mind, love. If you don’t touch my cock soon, I’m going to explode and I might take you and this hotel with me.”

“It is a risk I am prepared to take,” Crowley vowed, and he ran his thumb over the band on Cas’ finger, rubbing it against his hand to remind him. “I’m pretty durable, but don’t take that as an excuse to try to destroy me, dear heart. Have some faith…”

He let go of his hands and slid further down, a hand on each hip. Then he started to tug the belt from its loops with just his tongue and teeth… another trick he was proud of. The leather tasted vile but it was nothing. Nothing when the prize he was going to get would be worth it. Next came the fly and if he rubbed his face against Cas’ straining bulge as he did… well. “Do you trust me?”

Cas muttered something unintelligible which might have even been Enochian and bucked his hips peevishly into Crowley’s face. “ _Please_ ,” he keened. He knew that wasn’t the question, but did he really have to say it outloud? “I trust you implicitly, only, _fuck_.”

“You’re giving me mixed signals, oh sugarplum, why don’t you just let me show you a good time… because tonight is the first in a _long_ line of nights…” He pulled back and eased the fabric of trousers and boxers down, crawling back on the bed so he could tug them - and socks and shoes - clean off and leave Cas mostly undressed. Mostly. Then he tugged Cas’ ankles so his legs draped over the side of the bed and knelt between his thighs. He rubbed his cheek against Cas’ cock like an affectionate cat, peppering kisses to his inner thigh. “Will you scream my name?”

“Yes!” Cas growled. “I’ll do anything you want me to do…” He felt his eyes rolling deeply into the back of his head. His cock bounced up, proud, happy, and playfully trying to attack Crowley’s lips like a well-aimed homing rocket.

He pushed Cas’ legs further apart, then tilted his head to one side to drag his tongue slowly over his balls, pulling them to one side and letting them drop back into place when he let go. Hands still on his knees, he licked and licked and then pushed Cas’ legs, bending them, and growled: “Lift up, love of my life. Arch for me…”

Cas said something that was so blasphemous that it actually made Crowley giggle despite himself, and arched off the bed at his beloved’s beckoning. He was trying to brace himself for a long and drawn out torture session, the kind that only Crowley could administer, the kind that would result in him falling apart completely on his beloved’s cock. Eventually. First: the torture. He was surprised Crowley didn’t wear an apron for these bits of sexually peppered cruelty.

“Remember that I love you.” He held Cas still, then licked roughly behind his balls, letting them bump into his face as he worked. Eyes closed in pleasure, he traced a languid, careful circle around Cas’ puckered hole, smiling at the way his lover clenched in response. “I know you love me too…” His tongue worked relentlessly, tugging at the sensitive skin until the sounds from Cas broke into incoherence. When they did, he pushed his tongue into a sharp, stiff dagger and forced it carefully into him. Again and again he fucked him wet and slow, stretching his tongue back flat when it was inside to tease him wider open, swirling around until Cas’ legs shook from the torment.

“No,” Cas emitted a strangled moan, followed by, “ _Yes_.”

That was… so wrong that it was right again. Castiel’s mind raced with increasingly incoherent thoughts. _Nothing should be allowed to feel this good. I think I’m dying. Why have we never done this before?_ Crowley’s hands were a steadying presence against his hips but he still felt like flying off the bed and going supernova somewhere out in the cosmos: that’s how talented Crowley’s tongue was.

“Oh… _ohhhhhh_... Crowley…. _God_.” His lover must have been getting off on _that_ , it occurred to Cas, hearing him moaning his name in the same breath as his Father’s.

Crowley laughed - a bubbling, easy sound - and it rippled through his lover as he did. He had suspected his angel would enjoy this and it was nice to be proven right. With a little effort he widened his jaw and scraped his front teeth just behind Cas' balls, bending his tongue almost in half inside before unfurling it. He didn't need to breathe and he didn't get jaw or tongue strain which made this much easier.

His left hand let go of his lover's hip - a deliberate choice - and he coiled it around the base of Cas' shaft. Torturously slow strokes that twirled up, milking pleasure and precum in one.

 _Beg me,_ he said into Cas' mind. _Beg me and I'll fuck you into oblivion, lover-boy._

There was some deranged part of Cas that wanted to turn his asshole into another mouth and just chew up Crowley's face (that would have shown him: sticking his tongue into places like that, driving angels insane with lust), and then there was the selfish part, the part that would do anything, say anything, just to finally be allowed to get off. It was the latter part that won out.

"Please," Cas gasped, his voice thicker and more hoarse than usual. "Please, please fuck me." He was getting more plaintive with each stroke of Crowley's tongue. "God, please... baby... I'm begging. _Fuck_."

Crowley loved hearing Castiel utterly depraved and needy. Loved hearing the way his normally steady voice wavered. Loved it so much he dragged his hand back up and used his thumb to slide roughly over that nice little spot just behind the crown where it never failed to make Cas whimper and almost thrash. His tongue did one last, heady circuit - pulling him as open as he could in preparation - and then he pushed back to his feet and towered from between his thighs.

His eyes sort of hurt looking at him. Hurt in the way his chest did. No matter the flak either human, demon... or even angel might give him... he knew this was the right choice.

Crowley undid his pants and tugged himself out of the incredibly fine suit and sank in as he dropped down to lie above him again: feet on the floor for purchase, hands on Cas' where he'd left them and where they had obediently stayed. Fingers locked together and his eyes were on the soft blue seas of Cas' threatening to drown him and swallow him. For a moment he couldn't even _speak_ , just grind up and _in_.

Castiel's eyelids fluttered and went half-mast, as a soft moan escaped his lips and floated up to brush like an echo against Crowley's mouth. He let his fingers caress Crowley's, as he draped his thighs across his lover's lower back and ass, urging him deeper.

"Yes," Cas moaned, "please... more."

His body was on fire, and Crowley was the pyromaniac responsible, and Cas didn't care if half of Bangkok could hear his pleasure cries.

"More!" he demanded, thrusting against Crowley, to meet him pound for sensational pound.

Eyes alight with mirth, the King of Hell did as he was bidden. But slowly. Slowly and firmly. He knew Cas could take it now - especially with neither of them human - but it still was a pleasure in and of itself to deny them both first. It was inevitable pleasure, guaranteed happiness, so delayed gratification only served to sharpen the sensation to a razor-edge.

"You broke me," he complained, in that whisky and tumbleweed voice that said he was close to losing it. "You broke me when you loved me, and you put me back together right." Harder, the music building to a crescendo and driving him subliminally on. "You ruined and saved me." He was losing his fine sense of control, of tempo. "I love you."

He let go of a hand, but only to grab Cas' dick and tug it mercilessly, messily hard in time with Ravel. "I love you." Simple words, but he knew Castiel knew what they actually _meant_. And so it didn't feel foolish to repeat them... because it was the truth.

Cas purred, cooed, and roiled underneath him like a waterfall. Freed hand tangling in Crowley's hair, pulling him closer so that Cas could bite his lower lip, just hard enough to leave Crowley wanting more.

Cas was cresting, peaking, but he didn't want to go there alone.

"Come," he panted in a broken whisper, "come in me. And make me come too." His eyes fixed on Crowley's, waiting for that wave to break. _I love you too_ , he said with his inner voice. _You are my love_.

He did want more. As much as he loved this dance of courtship and romance, Crowley still had a taste for dark things in there too, and those teeth just whet his appetite and made him rut harder, chasing the pleasure he knew was bare moments away.

_Let me in and let me show you how you make me feel again, _Crowley asked, wanting permission this time. When he got the yes he was waiting for, he closed his eyes and stopped holding back. Stopped holding everything back. The hand on Cas' cock burned hot and seared his name in invisible lines that he jerked into his ramrod-straight length, and with all the (not inconsiderable) strength he had he fucked Cas so hard the bed banged up and crashed back down after every slam. It felt good. It felt more than good. He pushed into Cas' mind as he pushed into his ass - with all he had - and then his eyes glowed open, locking with his angel's as he mentally screamed his lover's name loud enough that any creature capable of hearing in all of Bangkok would be in no way able to deny that the demon was bought and sold and owned by the angel in his arms.__

It was glorious. It was like victory over Heaven in a way that the other angels Cas had fought alongside would never understand. Crowley's heart soared free from pain as his body spent itself in Castiel's embrace, pulling bliss upon bliss from his own much-loved frame and pouring into his lover - his _fiancé_ , but more than that was the soul-deep affection. The knowledge that he was safe and loved truly and utterly. That here with Castiel he could finally _live_. And it was that more than the physical that he broadcast: an utter sense of right and completion. In Cas he had all he'd ever wanted. All he'd ever needed. And it was perfect.

It wasn't like it was the first time Crowley had done this on the top of the Arc de Triomphe, another lifetime ago for Castiel now. Whereas that experience was bathed in the fount of Castiel's fears and doubts, now he was cocooned safely in the knowledge and surety of being safe and adored. His own Grace reached out towards Crowley, so that this wouldn't be a one way street this time, this time Cas wanted his beloved to feel everything that he also felt, all the love, trust, desire, these pillars that had sustained him while he was lost at sea and Crowley was his lighthouse, the only one to find him, to save him. He wanted to retaliate in kind - and yes, the word retaliate in all its warlike connotation was the best one he, God's soldier, could find. Because the love he felt had warlike qualities too. It could vanquish as well as yield, it could conquer as well as surrender, and it could call a truce so that divine Grace could pour into a demonic meatsuit and intercalate with the red smoke of Crowley's soul, to push away what recesses of pain Cas found there, until the only thing that pulsed through them was the simple mantra of _My love._

And maybe, when he finally pulled back, after lying sated and completely slain from the onslaught of pleasure against his body and his moral fiber, he might have left a tiny piece of his Grace behind, in a hidden compartment, right at the base of Crowley's heart.

It was like nothing Crowley had ever experienced, brushing against Heaven itself in Castiel's Grace. It was seeing the universe as beautiful and wonderful, not dark and nasty: it was as far from Hell and the life he'd known for so long, that Crowley could barely contain it. He laughed, the glee bursting forth, rolling out and mixing with the tears of joy that streamed freely over his face. It was seeing himself as Castiel saw him, it was seeing himself as worthy of the love Cas had for him and maybe, maybe he just was. 

He wept against Cas' cheek, unable to stop, finding Cas' hands again and pressing their palms together, spreading the sticky mess between them. He kissed Cas' lips through the smile he couldn't stop, the smile that came from deep inside. Crowley dropped onto mattress, curling around his angel, nose trailing the curve of his ear. 

Words rose and fell, dying on his breath, tickling against Cas' ear. He was wiped - body, heart and soul - and he couldn't ever remember feeling as good as he did right now. The smile just would not fade.

_Forever_ , he thought. _I will love you forever. You complete me. You save me. I love you. My angel... my heart. Heaven and Hell couldn't keep me from you. **God** couldn't keep me from you. You make me the happiest damned creature ever to have crawled out of the slime._

Another kiss. Another. He was so far beyond happy it was unreal.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Crowley and rolled them over onto their side, skin still pressed against heated skin, his own lips swallowing the demon's words along with soft kisses. It could be this way always, Cas realized, they could do this _forever_. If only the world would allow them to remain in this blissful stillness and never to encroach upon their peace again. 

He felt suddenly protective over his betrothed and to hold him wrapped in his arms and legs felt somehow insufficient. He wanted to build a castle around them, with fortifications, and possibly a moat. Instead, he pulled his wings back into the same bodily plane as them, letting their darkness fill the room, and draped them tightly over both their bodies. Then he closed his eyes again and smiled contently.

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the musical inspirations:
> 
> [Tchaikovsky's 1st String Quartet](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zl3ckjAgxqI).  
> [Ravel's Bolero](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-4J5j74VPw).
> 
> And here are the [rings](http://www.elmajewellery.co.uk/images/data/7mm%20Titanium%20Black%20Diamond%20Wedding%20Ring%20Band.jpg).


End file.
